Behind the Raven Mask

by Cherime MacFarlane

  Camille was the only one here Anya was unsure of. What did Camille want from life? Would she be content with the isolated existence their island offered? She needed to get to know Camille better. It was possible they might want some of the same things. Anya smiled to herself. She might find an ally in her stepmother.

  It was unnecessary for allies to be friends. Anya was certain she would never like Camille that was not possible. With a shake of her head she dismissed the idea. But, they might make common cause. She would see what could be done later. Anya returned to her reading.

  ***

  Dmitri followed the creek toward the beach. He thought about his first wife as he walked along the path. It was easy to recall her face as their daughter could have been her twin. Other things came to mind with little effort. The first time they had met as children, the time Anya claimed him and the day they married, those incidents were still clear in his mind.

  Memories of the stormy love they shared had mellowed with age. The sharp edges of the emotions had eroded beyond recall. With a sense of loss, Dmitri realized Anya could never again be real for him. He remembered her with a tenderness they had rarely felt for each other when Anya was alive. Passion dominated their relationship and nothing about it had been easy.

  Dmitri tried to recall the heights they had reached while making love and failed. His memories of Anya were clouded by visions of a smaller, more curvaceous body. Dark hair and fair skin over laid his earlier memories. He had not forgotten his first love and did not believe he ever could. But Camille was gaining precedence in his thoughts.

  He stood at the creek mouth where he watched the ocean swallow the sparkling water. Life was doing much the same thing to him. Change was carrying him forward into new things. Dmitri looked down the beach toward his home. He could see the wharf where his ship rode high on the water. The young man who had loved Anya so desperately no longer existed. As she died, he matured and changed.

  The man he had become wanted the woman who was now his wife. Woman? Dmitri considered the word and its meaning when applied to Camille. She was no child, no matter how much he tried to imagine her as such. Camille also had a different set of values than those of the other women he had known. Throughout the years, he had made a habit of consorting with unsuitable females.

  In his own way, he had remained true to Anya's memory. Camille was the first woman suitable to be his wife, the mother of his children. But fated forced her upon him. If he could learn to understand her wants, her needs, perhaps they could make a life together.

  Dmitri wanted her bare skin against his. With an ache close to pain, he realized he wanted Camille to take his face in those small hands and kiss him. He started down the beach toward the house. Stride lengthening, Dmitri hurried toward home. With a grin, he considered how undignified he must look almost running toward a woman. The grin broadened as he decided he did not give a damn.

  After entering the house, Dmitri discovered he had been gone longer than he realized. Camille waited for him in the study. Dinner was ready. Everyone was waiting for him. With a sigh of resignation, Dmitri took Camille's arm as they entered the dining room.

  Before they sat down, Camille looked at him with a smile. "Are you sure you would not like to change before dinner?"

  "No!" He took Camille's hand then kissed her fingers. "The sooner this is over, the sooner I can be alone with you."

  Camille's eyes widened at his boldness. She looked away from him before withdrawing her fingers from his. Dmitri chuckled and she glanced at him from beneath her lashes. Was he laughing at her? No, perhaps not, Camille decided, as she reached for a spoon.

  Throughout dinner, Dmitri watched her. At first, his scrutiny made her somewhat uncomfortable. Her nervousness faded as he did nothing to disturb her. But Dmitri's expression was one she had not seen before. He was cheerful and talkative. Camille and Anya heard tales of his adventures during dinner. He kept them both laughing.

  Dinner over, Anya walked over to her father. As she stood next to his chair, she put a hand on his arm. "Would you tuck me in, Poppa? Please?"

  Her small face wore a pleading look he found impossible to resist. "If you wish it, Anya." Rising, he took his daughter’s hand in his.

  "Excuse us, Camille. I will see you upstairs."

  Camille finished her wine, then went upstairs to her bedroom. She changed into a nightgown before slipping her dressing gown over it. After lighting the lamp, she sat down to brush her hair. Helena came in to start her fire.

  "Good night, Madame," Helena called out as she closed the door behind her.

  The brush went down on the top of the dressing table and she went to stand before the fire. She felt oddly disturbed, but could find no reason for her discontent. Sensing she was no longer alone, Camille looked up to find Dmitri watching her.

  Tension surged around them. The emotions she sensed racing through him were almost intimidating. Camille glanced at him then away again as he walked toward her.

  His touch was gentle when he embraced her. Camille nestled her head on his chest. She didn’t know how long they stood watching the fire before he kissed her. It was a kiss so filled with longing that Camille broke away from him while trying to decipher his expression. Something was different, but Camille was afraid to put a label on what she saw.

  "Sweet little one,” His strong hands closed over hers.

  "Is anything wrong, Dmitri?" Camille asked.

  ***

  Dmitri smiled at her concern for him. How vulnerable she looks. The thought caused him to relax his hold on her. Her wide eyes danced with color like a dark night sky full of stars. Dmitri drew her toward him.

  Memories of the previous night flooded his mind, and all his senses seemed to narrow down to one thing; bedding his wife.

  The firelight outlined Camille's lush body and formed a glowing backdrop for her. His lips settled on hers for a light kiss. For a moment, she was tense, unyielding. Then Camille was returning his kiss. Everything about her inflamed him. Dmitri stepped back; he took her wrist.

  "Come."

  Her head drooped; the dark hair fell around her like a veil. "I cannot."

  Dmitri dropped her wrist as if his fingers had hit an ember. For a moment, the only sound was the crackling of the fire. He lifted her chin and searched her face for a clue to her refusal. His one pale eye stared at her. "Have I upset you somehow?"

  "No, Dmitri, you are not to blame." Camille took his hand and pressed his palm to her cheek. "Not tonight."

  He nodded. "Perhaps tomorrow night then, dear?"

  With difficulty he swallowed his anger and his pride, Dmitri put his hand on her shoulder. "Talk to me, Camille. Please." He whispered.

  He begged her to talk to him and like a guilty child, she stood there refusing to speak. Dmitri saw the tears. Frustration surged through him. Would she never grow up? His voice shook with rage. "I will not ask you again. My attentions appear to cause you too much anguish. And I damn well will not beg!"

  With those words he rushed back through the connecting doors to his room. Jaw set, he jerked open the door to the hall. Dmitri leaned over the balustrade and called for Gregor. He was halfway down the staircase when the servant came rushing down the hall. “Grab a bag from the storeroom. I’m leaving for Sitka on the tide!”

  Gregor turned and hurried to find a valise. With the bag in hand, he followed Dmitri into his bedroom. After snatching the bag from the older man, the Count wrenched it open and threw things inside.

  “No, let me.” Gregor packed the bag for him while Dmitri kicked chairs and slammed a drawer shut.

  “I tried.” A hard kick from his boot sent a chair tumbling across the floor. “What in the name of all the saints happened? This is ludicrous! Am I to be ignored for some unexplained female reason I am too crass to understand?” He slammed the door of the wardrobe.

  After snapping the valise shut, Gregor held it out to Dmitri without a word. The Count took it in both hands and Gregor released the handle.r />
  “Thank you, Uncle,” He mumbled before taking the bag in his right hand and bolting from the house. If he didn’t get away, Dmitri could do something he would regret forever. There was only one place he could go.

  After starting a fire in it, Dmitri sat before the stove in the Arctic Tern. The small schooner rolled with the motion of the sea. He tossed down a mouthful of brandy, then refilled the glass. What happened? Dmitri mulled it over again and again. No matter how long he thought about the incident, it still refused to make sense. After the fourth glass, Dmitri rose from the chair and tumbled into the nearest bunk.

  "The hell with it!" Muttering to himself, he pulled the blankets over his body without removing his clothing.

  He awoke to the smell of coffee and Alexis' off key singing. Dmitri's head throbbed a little when he sat up. Alexis held a cup out to him before Dmitri asked for it. Tossing half of the dark liquid down in one swallow, he closed his eye, as he tried to ease the ache in his head. The pain seemed to increase with each movement.

  "You are under the weather, Dmitri. Brandy, I would guess."

  With a faint moan, Dmitri stood up. "What time is it?"

  Alexis refilled the cup, then held it out to his friend. "It is a little after seven, and the tide will ebb soon."

  "Then let us get under way." With that he pulled on his boots and made his way on deck by hanging onto the hand rail. He and Alexis ran up the mainsail but kept it loose. It flapped back and forth in the breeze as both men took in the mooring lines. They pushed the Arctic Tern away from the dock with the boat hooks.

  As soon as the small schooner cleared the dock, Dmitri ran to the wheel, as Alexis tightened up the main sail. That done, Alexis sent up the jib. The ship caught the breeze and drifted down the fjord on the swiftly flowing tide.

  As they cleared land, Dmitri called to Alexis. "Coming about!"

  The little ship's bow swung around to the east. Away from the island, the breeze stiffened. The Arctic Tern heeled over, and her bow drove through the swell. Alexis sat down on the bench which ran around the stern of the boat.

  "Gregor said we were going to Sitka. Just where are we headed?"

  Dmitri looked up at the main sail, squinting against the strong sunlight, he replied. "We are going to Juneau."

  Alexis wanted to ask what was in that blight on the wilderness but maintained his silence.

  ***

  She should tell him. Camille’s cheeks flamed as the telltale heat rose in her face. It was as if her tongue had frozen to the roof of her mouth. Words fled, embarrassed beyond belief; Camille could only shake her head as the blood rushed to her cheeks.

  Angry with herself, Camille was ashamed of her actions. She loved this man, and he had a right to a reasonable explanation. The truth was so simple. Like a tongue-tied child, she could not speak. She must tell him; she had to explain. Camille took a deep breath; she lifted her head. Why, why did talk of matters concerning her body, or his, always put her at odds with him?

  His angry words filled the room. Camille reached for his arm, but he had already turned away. Shocked, she stood rooted to the floor. When he rushed from her into the dressing room, Camille knew she had made a grave mistake. Her husband was livid. And worse, he had tried to get her to confide in him.

  "Dmitri!" She whispered. Camille gathered up her courage and walked into the dressing room. Her hand was on the knob when she heard him in the hall yelling for Gregor. When he reentered his room, it was with Gregor in tow.

  Drawers slammed. Dmitri roared at his man from time to time. Camille waited for the older man to leave. She would tell Dmitri nature had intervened. This could not be allowed to continue.

  After a while, the other room was silent. Camille opened Dmitri's door and walked inside. The lamp was out. Only the dying fire lit the area. The bed was undisturbed. Camille searched the dimly lit bedroom. It was empty. Dmitri had gone somewhere else.

  Perhaps he is in the guest bedroom. She thought as she opened the door into the hall. The hallway was empty. Camille raced to the guest room. Dark and silent, it was also empty. As she slammed the door shut behind her, she thought of the study. Her slippers clattered on the stairs. Throwing open the double doors, her breath caught in her throat. It was empty. Where could he be?

  Alarmed, Camille searched the entire house. Then in tears, she returned to her bedroom to fall sobbing into the rocker. Dmitri left the house while the quarrel still stood between them.

  She twisted her hands together. "Stupid! Stupid idiot!"

  How foolish of her! It was all her fault for not telling him she would be indisposed for a few days. Dmitri was married before. He was no stranger to the once a month problem every woman faced. Camille's tears of rage at her behavior threatened to choke her, as she sat in the chair crying. Where had he gone? Where was Dmitri?

  Camille rose in time to see the ship leave the bay. Her fingers clutched the windowsill in Dmitri's room. She had entered his bedroom, hoping her husband had returned during the night. There was a tightening in Camille's throat, which almost choked her, as she watched the schooner disappear around the headland.

  Where in God's name could he be going? Gregor would know! Camille ran from the room in search of Dmitri's servant. She knocked on the door of Gregor's room. There was a noise within and after a moment the door opened.

  "Good morning, Madame."

  Standing face to face with the servant, she could not decide on a method of getting the information she wanted. Not wanting to ask Gregor about Dmitri directly, Camille stared at the man.

  "The Count will be fine, Madame." Gregor smiled. "He and Alexis sail to Sitka often."

  Camille nodded as she tried to swallow back the tears which threatened. "How long does the trip take?"

  "It depends on many things. I do not think they should be away longer than ten days." Gregor shrugged. "Maybe less, then again, perhaps more. Count Dmitri knows these waters. He is a good sailor as is Alexis. So Madame, do not worry."

  Dmitri's man took Camille's hands in his, and patted them. His dark eyes told her he understood.

  Why had Dmitri left? Her head ached. Camille knew she needed the silence of her room. She removed her hands from Gregor's grasp and thanked him before hurrying back down the hall and upstairs to her room. After closing the drapes. Camille shrugged off her dressing gown, which fell to the floor. Leaving it there she slid into bed and drew the covers over her head.

  There were too many things to worry about. They all crowded around, demanding entrance into her thoughts. It was impossible to deal with anything at the moment. She would go back to sleep and escape from everything. Curled into a ball beneath the blankets, she let herself drift.

  When her headache went away, she would try to make sense of it all. She would have quite a few days in which to sort her feelings out and frame an apology to Dmitri. There was no urgency now. He had left her.

  Dmitri sat at a table in the corner of the saloon, watching the surrounding people. There were a few women in gaudy dresses, but most of the crowd comprised miners. Some had gold, which they were spending.

  Their presence in his homeland disturbed Dmitri. Most of these people were users or fools. The foolish ones would take what they found and spend it until they had nothing left. Others, on finding the riches they sought would take the gold then leave, going back to whatever town they came from. They would never see, much less appreciate the beauty Alaska possessed.

  Gold, gold and more gold. It was incredible how just the hint of a rumor of a strike sent so many people into a frenzy. They swarmed over whatever place might have produce color like yellow jackets on a fresh piece of meat. Like the yellow jackets, they destroyed whatever got between them and the search for gold. Dmitri could count at least four gold rushes in the past few years.

  A breeze lifted the canvas roof of the saloon; it fluttered briefly before settling back on the log walls. The kerosene lamps, which lit the room, cast uneven shadows across the packed dirt floor.

&n
bsp; Dmitri glanced at the back door which led to the finished portion of the saloon. Vanessa was staying in one of the second-floor rooms of what the bartender referred to as the "hotel".

  She should have received his message by now. Impatient with the place and the woman, he lit a cigar and took another sip of the cheap whiskey. It left a metallic taste in his mouth. The rot-gut would not kill as he had no intention of drinking more than a glass or two of the garbage.

  Alexis entered the room. Upon catching sight of Dmitri, he walked over, pulled out a chair and down. "Are you ready to leave this place?"

  Dmitri tossed down the last of the raw alcohol, then refilled his glass. "I still have business to take care of. Perhaps we will leave tomorrow."

  The hotel door opened. Vanessa stood looking around the crowded room. Several men called out to her, but she ignored them. Dmitri rose. She saw him, picked up her skirt in both hands and walked toward him. Alexis stood, as she reached the table. He watched as Vanessa laid a hand on Dmitri's arm, before kissing him full on the mouth.

  "Miss Vanessa O'Hare, this is my friend Alexis Vostvich."

  The redhead placed her arm through Dmitri's, then turned her bright smile on Alexis. "Pleased to meet you, Mr. Vostvich."

  Alexis bowed from the waist, then clicked his heels together in a formal salutation. "Good night, Miss O'Hare."

  He turned to glance at Dmitri. "I will be on board the Arctic Tern if you need me Count." Alexis walked away without a backward glance. The man held himself rigid as he strode to the door.

  Vanessa watched him for a moment, then turned to Dmitri. "I do not think your friend likes me."

  A flick of the Count’s fingers tossed the cigar aside. With his heel, Dmitri ground it into the dirt floor. "He is my friend, but Alexis has no right to approve or disapprove of the company I keep. Were this just a few years in the past, his attitude would have earned him a lashing."